


Oblivious

by RockingItInAParallelUniverse



Series: Songs of The Smiths [2]
Category: Marrissey - Fandom, The Smiths
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Hangover, M/M, Memory Loss, One Shot, RPF, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 06:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20990192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockingItInAParallelUniverse/pseuds/RockingItInAParallelUniverse
Summary: The band convinces Morrissey to go out drinking after the gig.





	Oblivious

**Author's Note:**

> A one-shot inspired by listening to "These Things Take Time". Mozzer's POV
> 
> TW - Ill effects from too much alcohol
> 
> Pure fiction.

"Come on, Mozza, join us tonight!" Johnny pleads as we ready ourselves for this evening's show.

I gaze at his boyish face full of excitement and hope. I do not understand why he enjoys drinking to intoxication and engaging in various liaisons with various females who are not his girlfriend. Mike is the same. Both of them eagerly take part in this behavior only to bemoan hangovers and regrettable one-night stands the next morning in the van. And then there is dear Andy. I am all for dear Andy participating in this debauchery as long as it keeps him away from self-loathing, needles and illicit substances.

"Yeah, hang out with us," Mike urges.

Tonight, I will force myself to "hang out". Alcohol is the only common denominator between the four of us. That's not quite true. It is concerning Mike and dear Andy. Johnny is different. That is why his behavior is so puzzling to me. He is brilliant. Why does he choose to dull his mind every night while we are on tour? I would certainly prefer if Johnny were to stay in whilst the other two go out and make drunken fools of themselves. When sober, Johnny is a wonderful friend. I very much cherish his thoughts and opinions. But if I am to spend time with him on this tour offstage and out of the van, I will have to go out and, dear God, mingle.

As I make last minute preparations for the concert; the final touches on my hair and trimming the gladiola for my rear pocket, I decide that Johnny is my most important muse. The idea of Johnny is perfect. Such a crackling little ball of energy in a tiny, exquisite package. I am safe from any dilemma concerning love and sex. Johnny is quite the heterosexual young man. There is no chance that he we will confuse my love and admiration for sexual attraction. I am free to create whatever pleasurable image of Johnny I wish to paint safely in my head. My imagination is far richer and more enjoyable than anything I've experienced in reality. With the exception of these concerts. But what soul could not be moved by the noisy and passionate adulation of our audience? Ah, the limelight calls.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The gigs keep getting better. Our fanbase increases and so does their frenzy. They break through security to hug and kiss me. Not the real me, of course, but the idea of me. Like my image of Johnny, their image of me is perfect. It is a glorious feeling.

"You coming out tonight, yeah?" Johnny asks as we leave the concert venue.

"If I must," I offer, half-heartedly.

"Oh, you must!" he says and a wicked grin forms on his elfin face.

At the bar, I indulge in a bottle of pinot noir. Or perhaps two.

"Come on, Morrissey, take a shot!" Mike taunts from a table. There are three rows of shot glasses turned upside down that my bandmates have already emptied. Since the vintage of my wine is not the best, I decide to join in their little game. I believe their liquor of choice is vodka. I take one of the tiny glasses of clear fluid and quickly pour it down my throat. It burns a fiery path straight to my gut. This pleases me. It tells me I am alive. Pleasure and pain, the perfect partnership.

Johnny, Mike and Andy cheer me on as I down each glass, one by one, until my row is finished.

And that is the last thing I remember until...

Oh dear God. I open my eyes to a room that is spinning. I throw the covers off my body and dash to the restroom. I nearly step on Johnny's head on my way to the toilet. He is passed out face down in a puddle of vomit. The sight and smell is all it takes for my stomach to cast up its contents. At least I managed to make it to the toilet bowl unlike my unfortunate bandmate.

My retching has disturbed Johnny from his state of unconsciousness. He moans as he rolls into a sitting position and begins to comb out his matted hair with his fingers.

I stumble back to bed, feeling a bit better, yet still queasy. I glance around the room. This isn't mine. This must be Johnny's. How did I get here?

"Johnny!" I shriek, frightened by the fact that I have zero recollection of anything beyond finishing the shots of vodka.

"Fuck, Moz. I'm just in the next room. You don't have to yell like I'm in another country," he grumbles.

I walk back into the bathroom. "Why am I in your room?"

Johnny is bent over the sink, rinsing his face and hair. A pile of unrolled toilet paper is soaking up the vile liquid on the floor.

"We couldn't find your key. You could barely walk."

As I look into the mirror, I see a red spot on my neck. It is more like a bruise. What the..? Oh, fuck! It's a love bite. I recognize it from seeing them appear on the necks of my bandmates after similar drunken nights.

"You let me be devoured by someone!" I accuse Johnny.

"What?" Johnny looks up, confusion in his bloodshot eyes. He is shirtless. He has a love bite below his right nipple.

"What the hell happened last night?" I implore him to tell me.

"You don't remember anything?" he asks, a blush spreads from his face down his neck.

"Would I be asking you if I did?" Panic is making my voice rise.

"Um..We might have made out a bit," he says looking at the floor.

"With whom?!" I ask, then, "Oh, God!" A vague memory of Johnny attaching himself to my neck and me holding him tight against me floats through my mind like a vapor.

"Um, yeah."

"You mean we fornicated and I don't remember it?" I am horrified.

"Jesus, Moz." Johnny runs his fingers through his hair. "No, we didn't. Just make out stuff like kissing. And maybe some touching."

"And biting, evidently." How did this happen? Oh my God. What did I say to him? "Well, none of this matters. I was too drunk to know what I was doing. Dear Angie has nothing to fear. You were also too drunk to know what you were doing. No one has to know," I tell Johnny, the words rushing from my mouth like an express train. Then another terrifying thought occurs to me. "Mike and Andy didn't see us, did they?"

Johnny shakes his head. "No. They'd already left with some birds."

"Well thank God for that." I splash some water on my face. Johnny sure seems to recall a lot for someone inebriated out of his senses. He leans next to me , over the sink, resting his forehead in his hands. His eyes are closed and his face looks pained. "Are you alright?"

"Just kind of overwhelmed," he says quietly.

"Like I said, you don't have to worry. Angie never has to know. We'll just treat this like one of your other snogfests on drunken nights."

Johnny is silent. He opens his eyes and looks at me. Is that sadness I see in their brown depths?

"Yeah, ok. Sure, Mozzer," he finally says, practically choking on the words.

Funny, my room key is in my pocket, not at all lost. I leave his room and enter my own. I turn on the shower and let it run until the bathroom is engulfed in steam. As I stand in the hot water, fingering the love bite, it dawns on me like a new age of enlightenment that Johnny's reaction to all this is somewhat off. Did our tryst mean something more to my dear guitarist? No. That's impossible. But why..? How..? None of this makes sense. I was so sure that it must have been me acting inappropriately, forcing my affection upon him. What if the exact opposite happened? What if our affections were mutual? And what do I do now? 

Once again, I am the only obstacle between making my fantasies my reality. It might as well be an ocean of lava housing a school of molten, man-eating sharks. I destroyed any possible bridge by telling Johnny how meaningless and unmemorable our actions were. Good job, Morrissey. You really are brilliant. 


End file.
